


the shinobi next door

by orphan_account



Category: Naruto
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, F/M, Female Protagonist, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Suspension Of Disbelief, The Author Regrets Everything, i promise other characters will appear in the future, the author is taking certain liberties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: your next door neighbour is a shinobi. this is only the start of your problems.





	1. the shinobi next door

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first work in the Naruto fandom. constructive criticism would be a freaking blessing, ngl, and i'm taking certain liberties with this, sue me. i'm aware that there's probably jonin apartments or something but meh. this works for my idea so deal with it. also i'm not overly familiar with a lot of the titles and honorifics, so any help there would be greatly appreciated. ta loves!

There’s a shinobi living next door.

You don’t see much of him, save the occasional, quiet greeting in the hallway whenever it’s unavoidable – sometimes there’s even a titbit of conversation before he makes a hasty retreat into his tiny apartment. He’s rarely seen without a book in hand and a mask on his face, after all, and neither scream that he’s particularly open to conversation, even if it’s just small talk in the hallway between neighbours. Never mind that he has only one visible eye, the other hidden under a crooked, shinobi hitai-ate.

“It’s part of the allure,” insists Maya one dreary afternoon. She’s lounging on your threadbare sofa and avoiding her insistent boyfriend; she shifts constantly as you busy yourself pouring tea and you hear her grumbles about your sinking cushions.

“If you’re not happy,” you tell her, handing her a steaming cup and sitting next to her, “you could always go home.”

“He’s persistent,” Maya complains. “It’s irritating.” She sighs after taking a long drink, the sound a cross between pleased and disgruntled. “It’s borderline obsessive, really.”

You settle against the cushions. “Maybe you should discuss this with _him_?”

She hums thoughtfully. “I _could_ ,” she says, “or I could stay here and wonder what your charming neighbour is doing next door.” She shoots you a long, considering look and barely reacts to your blank returning stare. “You can’t say you haven’t thought about it!”

You frown. “There’s not much that charming about him, really,” you admit softly. “I don’t see him enough to form an appropriate opinion though.”

“He’s so mysterious,” Maya continues dreamily. “What’s he hiding under that mask, do you think?”

No, you _don’t_ think. You rarely see the man – honestly, you’re convinced that he prefers leaving through his window simply to avoid confronting his neighbours. Not everyone is as easy-going as he seems to find you, after all; Saito-san next door, for example, seems convinced your ninja neighbour is a hermit. You’ve caught the tail-end of only _one_ conversation between the man and the old woman, one where she seemed to be chewing him out for apparent barking coming from his apartment that morning – he’d gladly thrust you into the line of fire and disappeared ( _literally disappeared before the two of you_ ) – and since then, your nosey, batty old neighbour has complained incessantly about the menace next door to you.

“I like you, though,” Saito-san had said, clawing at your arm with a frail, bony hand. “Him, I do _not_ like.”

“That may be,” you replied as politely as possible, “but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s lived here for years, ma’am. Maybe even before yourself. So, really, if anyone has a right to complain, it’s him. Is that all?”

A few hours later, there had been a small box of dango on your windowsill in thanks.

“Not really,” you tell Maya. “He just likes his privacy.”

“Mystery,” your friend counters. “He likes his _mystery_.”

“He’s  _not_ mysterious. He’s just busy.” She opens her mouth to counter once more and you cut her off with, “You’d complain if he _wasn’t_ busy, so don’t start.”

“Doesn’t it bother you, though?” She sits up, sets her empty tea mug on the coffee table near her feet. “He lives next door but you barely see him. That’s not normal.”

“He’s a shinobi,” you reply. “They work odd hours – sometimes he’s away for months on end. It’s not _that_ odd.”

“They _are_ an odd lot,” Maya insists. “It’s unnatural, what they can do.”

You roll your eyes. “Your little green monster is showing, Maya-chan.”

She huffs quietly. “I’ll tell you something, though,” she mutters savagely. “I wouldn’t be having the issues I am with Jomei if I _did_ go the Academy years ago.” She stares off into space, contenting herself it seems, with dreams of burning the man to a crisp. “Although maybe if I did, I’d know _all_ about your mysterious neighbour.” She sighs at last and starts to rise. “In any case, hiding away here isn’t going to help with the inevitable _talk_.”

Your smile is sympathetic. “Try not to be too harsh,” you tell her. “My door is open if you need a shoulder to cry on later.”

She scoffs. “I’ll let him know,” she teases.

You escort her to the door, watching bemusedly as she peers out first – at first, you think she’s checking for her ‘obsessive’ soon-to-be ex-boyfriend but when she sighs disappointedly and steps into the hallway, she woefully declares it empty.

“Probably took the window again,” she complains, not quietly. “How inconsiderate of him.”

“Yes,” you agree sarcastically, “how inconsiderate of him to cherish his privacy.” You poke her ribs, dart back as she flips her hair in your face. “How _inconsiderate_ \- ow.” You gingerly rub your shoulder, glaring balefully at the doorframe, the culprit of your injury.

“Serves you right,” Maya tells you, sticking her tongue out.

“Screw you. Go break up with your boyfriend already.” Your eyes flit to the door across the hall; it crosses your mind that the two of you may not have as much privacy as you think, if your conversations with Saito-san are anything to go by. She may ‘like’ you, after all, but that doesn’t stop her from being a nosey old bat.

“Sure, sure,” she mumbles. “I’m… _oh_ .” You’re still cautiously poking at your shoulder when Maya nudges you hard enough to throw you back _onto_ the doorframe.

“ _Ow_! Jeez, Maya, what the hell-?”

She’s blinking owlishly at the end of the hallway – at, more specifically, your illusive shinobi neighbour. Tufts of silver hair are what you see first, followed by the leaf symbol etched proudly on his crooked hitai-ate. Maya’s soft intake of breath seems to echo in the hallway as the masked man draws closer; he doesn’t look up, engrossed still in his book – the same one, you note, that you saw him reading the first time you met him. Does he read it over and over again or something?

“…Hello, shinobi-san,” Maya greets softly, nervously, sweetly. There’s a pink tinge to her cheeks and she’s biting delicately on her bottom lip, twisting her hands in front of her.

You stare, open-mouthed and flabbergasted, accusations on your lips – _you’re still in a relationship, you daft melon_ -! – when your neighbour glances up. He looks between the two of you – Maya, shifting nervously, you, lingering in the doorway of your apartment.

 _Don’t let him look inside_ , you lament to yourself. _I haven’t tidied up in_ days _._

“Hi,” he says. His lone, visible eye rakes over you in silent greeting, and then he moves on before Saito-san can thrust her thin, nightmarish body into the hallway. His door creaks quietly as he steps inside, and that’s that.

“He was checking you out,” Maya tells you immediately.

“Go home,” you reply.

* * *

Shit hits the fan that night. At 2.03 am, to be precise.

A pounding on your door rouses you from sleep and sees you trudging your way to your door, yawning wildly and scrubbing sleep from your eyes. You’ve barely wrenched it open before two large, cold hands are grasping you around the collar, stretching your favourite night shirt as they tug you from your home and into the hallway. The breath is knocked from your lungs as you’re thrust against the wall, a terrified, pained gasp leaving your lips as you strive to regain your bearings.

“Jomei,” you finally manage to groan, seeing the man towering over you, hands fisted tightly in your nightshirt. “What-!”

“You _did_ this,” he’s hissing in your face. He’s close enough to you that you can see the wild look in his eye, smell the pungent stench of drink on his words and clothes. He’s slurring and hardly able to stand upright, his harsh grip on your shirt the only thing that seems to be keeping him steady. Strands of dirty hair are in his eyes, creating a manic visage that troubles you greatly.

“Jomei,” you try, but you cut off with a cry as he wrenches you forward and slams you against the wall again.

“This is _your_ fault,” he hisses furiously. With an enraged growl, he removes one hand, clenches into a fist, and drives it into the wall next to your head. Pieces of plasterboard shake loose as he removes his hand and stumbles on his feet; you daren’t lift your hand to pick off the loose debris you can feel on your shoulder and hair. You’re shaking fearfully as his crazed eyes fix on you again. He repeats, “this is _your fault_ ,” and his lips twist into a sneer when you try to explain or refute.

He raises his fist again. You flinch away, a cry on your lips-

“D’you mind? You’re interrupting the best part of my book.”

He’s not even _looking_ at Jomei; one hand holds the bright orange book causally as his single, visible eye drinks in the words, and the other is wrapped around your attacker’s wrist, holding the fist meant for your cheek only inches away. You hadn’t even heard the annoying squeak that usually accompanies his door – perhaps the pounding of your heart in your ears blocked out everything else.

Your neighbour’s eye swivels towards you. “You might want to move,” he advises calmly.

It’s incredibly disconcerting how unaffected by the whole thing he appears but nevertheless you scramble to obey, skirting around the skirmish until you’re in the doorway of your apartment, watching the confrontation from behind his shoulder. Only now do you allow yourself to feel how unnerved you are, how shaky you feel. Of everyone on your floor, your illusive, anti-social neighbour is the last person you expected to step in.

You’ve barely swivelled to face them again before the shinobi has released Jomei; adding insult to injury, he’s returned his full attention to his book, unconcerned with the angry drunk disturbing the peace. Jomei, while still raging and now humiliated, flushing red in the face and his chest heaving with every breath, looks from you to the shinobi standing with his shoulders slouched by your door.

He huffs disgruntledly. “You won’t always have your bodyguard,” he announces, “and you _will_ pay for what you’ve done.”

Unimpressed, the shinobi takes a step forward; Jomei scrambles backwards, tripping over his own feet in his haste. “Leave,” he commands, “while I still allow you that luxury.”

Jomei stumbles down the hallway to the stairs. Neither you nor your neighbour move until his heavy footsteps grow quieter; distantly, a door slams. You let out a sigh of relief, leaning sluggishly against the doorframe and willing your hands to still their shaking. The hallway is quiet now with just the two of you; in the silence, a crumb of plasterboard peeling away and crumbling to the floor is deafening.

“I don’t know what that was about,” starts your neighbour, making his way back to his apartment. He closed the door behind him, you note, swallowing nervously, “but if you’re going to make a habit of crazy ex-boyfriends coming to your door to start fights, I could use a warning in the future.”

“Not my crazy ex-boyfriend,” you reply dazedly, shaking your hand through your hair to remove the debris. Really, you’re still nervous, and the action is only to distract you; you make a mental note to check all your windows are locked before you settle in again, though how _that_ will be possible, you’re not sure.

“Oh?” He’s closed his book and now idles near his door. He’s reaching for the handle, itching to remove himself from this awkward after-rescue encounter, you’re sure, so you shake your head, clearing your thoughts. He’s not actually interested, you’re telling yourself, even as he continues, “Let me guess: your friend from earlier?”

You shrug. “Guilty.” Another sigh as you wipe your face with your hand tiredly. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you, shinobi-san. I appreciate your help.” You accompany your words with a customary bow but try not to linger.

“That doesn’t explain why he came here,” the shinobi points out. His words stop you closing your door, surprise at the continued conversation overruling your need to escape and have a good cry.

“I don’t know why he came here,” you say thickly. Embarrassingly, you can feel your eyes beginning to water, your throat begins to burn in warning of the oncoming flood. “I don’t know why he’s blaming me.”

The shinobi hums. His door creaks open. “Too much sake,” he muses mildly.

“Maybe,” you answer softly. One thing’s for damn sure: you’re going to be having a bloody good talk with Maya next time you see her. If Jomei is going to keep pounding on your apartment door after a few drinks, you’d like some warning. “Anyway. Goodnight, shinobi-san.”

He dips his head. His eye lingers on something past your head. “Maybe see about getting that hole fixed before Saito-san sees, hm?”

“Oh, the horror,” you respond. There’s no bite in your tone, nor the sarcasm you intend, only bland indifference that accompanies bone-deep weary.

“Maa,” he continues, “I’m sure she won’t mind. She _likes_ you.”

You jerk your head towards him, surprised, but all you receive is a strange closing of his eye and a head tilt – a smile, perhaps? With his mask on you can’t tell, and you hardly know the man well enough to read his actions and translate his thoughts.

A breathy laugh as you say softly, “That’s true.” You rub the back of your neck, more comfortable and feeling lighter, braver. “Ah, this may seem forward, but I don’t actually know your name?” You introduce yourself first – your parents didn’t raise you on the street, after all – and you’re ready to bury your head in embarrassment and flee the hallway if he doesn’t respond.

Instead, he politely says, “Kakashi Hatake,” and finally retreats into his apartment.

You wait a few moments, testing the name in a whisper on your lips, surprised your boldness bore fruit. The hallway is quiet now, save your quiet, thrilled breaths, and you don’t move to shut your door until you hear the distinctive rattling of Saito-san’s door-chain, signalling her imminent arrival.

You all but slam it shut, throwing your full weight against it before the raggedy old woman can make her presence known, and if she hears your key turning in the lock, you couldn’t care less. Your neighbour officially introduced himself to you, _finally_ – it may not be outright approval of your presence but it might be all you’ll get any time soon.

 _Kakashi Hatake_ , is the last thought you have, as you throw yourself into bed. Every lock has been checked twice, but, if you’re honest, part of you is wondering if the shinobi next door might find a way into your apartment if you truly needed him. What are silly little locks against a trained killer, after all? You imagine the answer to that is the same to the question that was aroused tonight: what’s a drunk civilian against an uninterested shinobi?

Nothing at all.


	2. the pug on the sofa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _there's a pug on your sofa_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahhhh thank you so so much for all the support on the first part! i'm overwhelmed and feeling so, so loved. i hope you enjoy this, hope it's worth the wait.
> 
> there'll be more of Kakashi in the next chapter, promise, but this one is all about my boi! please let me know if you think there's any problems with characterisation and what-not, constructive criticism is very welcome with this fic! 
> 
> thank you! x

There’s a pug on your sofa.

“Um…”

He’s curled up on a cushion, half-buried under the pale blue throw you’d casually tossed over the back before you’d gone to bed the night before. One small ear twitches as you pass by, an eyelid peels back to watch you curiously, and after a tense moment of silence between the two of you, he goes back to sleep. There’s a leaf village hitai-ate, not unlike Kakashi’s, sitting askew on his head, sliding down to cover his right eye and perch on his button nose.

Pinching the bridge of your nose and sighing, you proclaim yourself too tired to deal with this right now, and wander through to the kitchen to start your day. You linger in the kitchen, waiting for your bread to toast and your eggs to fry, poking your head into the living room briefly every so often to check on your visitor.

He’s on his back now, belly bared and tongue lolling out of his mouth. He’s absurdly cute, enough to make your heart melt, and when your toast pops, you put in another couple of slices and fry another egg. It’s not the best breakfast for a dog, you know, but you’re lacking in proper dog food for the little beast, so this will have to do.

He wakes when you settle into the sofa beside him, nose wrinkling this way and that as he sniffs the air curiously. He blinks at the small plate you’ve set in front of him; two slices of toast lathered in butter and an egg sunny side-up cause the pug licks his lips and dart forward, shaking his head to adjust the fallen hitai-ate. The headband slips from his head and lands on the floor with a quiet clink of metal on wood, forgotten, while tiny needle-like teeth savagely rip into the yolk, spilling the gooey yellow contents onto your cushion. He’s licked it up before you’ve returned with a damp cloth, far too intelligent eyes watching you fumble slightly in surprise.

You stoop to grasp his headband from the floor, the metal cool against your thumb and the navy fabric soft and smooth.

“Let’s get this back on you, hm?” you ask quietly.

He sits still as you tie the knot, adjusting the metal until it’s placed just right. When you’re finished, he places a paw on your thigh, the pad surprisingly soft against the bared skin of your thigh, and he _stares_ at you. There’s a strange consideration in his eyes, a studious thoughtfulness that would worry you from a person but is only humbling from this small, far too serious dog..

Wary, you scoop him into your arms and wander through to your room.

“Now,” you tell him, placing the tiny animal onto your dishevelled bed sheets. “I’m pretty sure Hatake-san already thinks I’m a loser so I’m going to shower first and _then_ I’ll take you back. Please, go back to sleep until then, okay? I don’t need you wandering off and getting lost. _That_ would be just what I need, right?”

There’s a pug-shaped lump under your bed covers when you emerge from the steaming bathroom and a thin brown tail wagging sluggishly to greet you. The lukewarm water had done nothing to bring answers to the questions you asked yourself – how did the dog get in? Why is he here? What is Kakashi up to? – and anxiety twists your insides in knots. Will your shinobi neighbour accuse you of dognapping?

You sigh worriedly, ringing the water from your hair as you address the pug-shaped lump. “Your owner is probably going to kill me and hide the body where no one will ever find it.”

A hesitant wag of his small tail. Your shoulders slump. You sweep the pug into your arms and make for the door, every step heavy and slow; you’re walking like you are, for all intents and purposes, walking to your end.

You are _so dead_.

Three strong knocks follow this realisation, and hastening to answer only seems to draw your death that much closer. Kakashi appears bashful when you swing open the door, rubbing the back of his head. He looks nothing like the dangerous shinobi who’d swept to your rescue a couple of nights ago, you note, and instead looks like he’s about to receive the scolding of a lifetime.

Kakashi’s eye finds the pug settled snugly in your arms. He sighs tiredly.

“Pakkun,” he says. “What are you doing?”

“Research,” replies Pakkun, startling you enough that you almost drop him.

Kakashi doesn’t appear surprised in the slightest. “And did you find out anything valuable?”

“Only that you need to find out where she buys her laundry detergent,” he says. “Doesn’t hurt to have your laundry smelling like lavender, boss. It’s calming.”

Kakashi reaches for the pug and you numbly hand him over, words dried up on your tongue and your throat clogged up. Your neighbour appears aware of your plight and he shrugs good-naturedly.

“Pakkun is one of my ninken,” he tells you and then, at your blank look, “Ninja dogs.”

You blink. “He’s a ninja?”

“Yeah, lady,” says Pakkun, relaxing in Kakashi’s arms. He bares his teeth in a canine smile, revealing tiny needle-like teeth. He shakes his head, drawing your attention to the hitai-ate you’d helped him manoeuvre back into place. “You think I wear this because it’s pretty?”

You swallow. “I thought it was just to show who you belonged to.”

Pakkun huffs. “I don’t belong to anyone, lady. He belongs to _me_.”

Kakashi sighs again as Pakkun wriggles free, nimbly hopping from his arms. He stretches, front paws reaching forward as he yawns widely and, rising to four paws, he shakes off his fatigue.

“I really think you should get better locks, lady,” he says to you, “but thanks for letting me stay.”

He ambles away and disappears through Kakashi’s open door. It slams shut a second later, the sound loud and final in the quiet hallway. The silences stretches on; neither you nor Kakashi seems to know what to say, and you’d give your left arm that your isolated shinobi neighbour doesn’t want to be here. A single conversation does not a friend make, after all.

A single conversation does, however, have Maya screaming in your ear non-stop and already planning your wedding.

Just as you’re convinced things can’t get worse - and that that conversation with Kakashi was only because he felt _obligated to_ after saving your life - he surprises you again.

“Do you talk to every dog that happens to wander into your home?”

“He didn’t speak once,” you reply. “I was talking to him like a complete _lunatic_ and he never said a word.”

“Ah, that doesn’t sound like Pakkun.” Kakashi rubs the back of his head, appearing, you think, somewhat embarrassed. “Truthfully, I don’t know what he was thinking.” A pause as you scan his masked face for signs of a lie; a fruitless endeavour, you think after, for as a shinobi the man has probably told countless lies.

His visible eye gets defensive anyway, narrowing slightly. “I didn’t put him up to it,” he tells you seriously.

“I didn’t think that,” you reply slowly.

A tense moment of silence follows. You think that even if Kakashi _had_ put Pakkun up to it, you wouldn’t be able to tell. You’re not quite sure what’s supposed to follow; do you invite Kakashi into your (still embarrassingly messy) apartment?

“Um…”

“Uh, sorry about all that,” Kakashi says.

You wave off his apology, heat searing your cheeks as you flush. “Oh, no, please don't worry! It was my pleasure. He’s the easiest guest I’ve had around for a while.” _Stop rambling, stop rambling_!

Kakashi doesn't look convinced - but then that could just be his default expression. It’s difficult to tell, with that mask ever present and hiding so much of his facial expression.

“Sure,” he says. “See you around, neighbour.”

He’s trundling off down the hallway, back to you and hand raised in silent farewell. Your heart in your throat and your hands shaking, you don't move until his apartment door closes behind him.

You’re frozen for several long moments, wondering about your crazy morning; you grip tightens on the door handle as you consider the possibility of Pakkun revisiting in the future. There’s not a whole lot you can do to guard against that, after all; a ninken, a _small_ one at that, had broken into your apartment with very little resistance. The thought is jarring - what if that had been Jomei?

You hear the rattling chain a second too late, and find yourself stuck under the beady, dark stare of Saito-san. Spindly fingers wrap around the doorframe as she leans out, peering up the hallway and glaring sternly at Kakashi’s closed door. Her smile is thin and expectant as those eyes find you; they become disappointed when she eyes the still destroyed wall by your head, the plasterboard still crumbling.

She opens her mouth, to bid you good morning or chew you out for the state of wall, you’ve no clue, because words tumble out of your mouth and into the air-

“Good morning, Saito-san!”

-and you slam the door in her face.

* * *

Pakkun sleeps undisturbed for three more nights before you realise he’s there.

“Took you long enough to notice,” he comments, stretching languidly on the throw. It’s 2am again, a bad habit you’ve picked up since that thundering knocks on your door and those thick hands grasping your nightshirt. Three nights you’ve walked to the kitchen and back, and you’re only _just_ seeing the lump under the blanket.

“Boss said I can sleep but I gotta be gone before breakfast,” he tells you, curled on the cushion and the throw tucked neatly under his chin. “Probably doesn't like that I get to eat better with you.”

Your shoulders slump _again_ and the beginnings of a sigh build in your throat. “Pakkun…”

He’s too intelligent to _not_ know what the problem is, so you deduce that he just doesn’t _care_. What’s worse is this knowledge that Kakashi is _aware_ of this, that he’s had an input in the arrangement where you’ve had none. Does that say so much about the threat you do or do not pose to him?

Pakkun blinks slowly. “Yeah, lady?”

You rub your tired eyes. “I’m not a hostel.” You cross the room, fingers scratching absently behind the pug’s ear. You’re not sure what you need distracting from, exactly, but the absent action is helping. “And Hatake-san should have _talked_ to me about this.”

“Why?” Pakkun doesn’t appear genuinely puzzled, more bothered by the insinuation that Kakashi should have _asked_. “I don’t need his permission.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just wander in whenever you like, Pakkun.”

“I know,” replies the pug. “You don’t exactly run a five-star hotel here, lady.”

Your eye twitches. “No one is saying you have to stay here.”

“Boss’ bed gets crowded,” he says.

You rub your temples. “Just how many of you are there?”

Pakkun thinks for a moment but finally settles on, “...Enough.”

_Enough for the bed to get crowded_ , _apparently_ , you think, briefly considering what might happen should Kakashi’s other… - what was the word? _Ninken_? - dogs decide they like your home better than his.

You sigh. “You can’t stay here.”

“Sure, lady,” replies Pakkun, without missing a beat. He sets his head down on his front paws, far too comfortable on your sofa and in your apartment.

He meets your stare but remains completely unaffected by the severity of your tone. “I _mean_ it.”

“Uh-huh.”

A terse silence follows. Pakkun wins the staring contest between the two of you.

“Fine,” you relent reluctantly, “but you’re _gone_ before breakfast.”

“Of course.” Pakkun closes his eyes. “Try to be a little quieter in the morning though, will ya? I like to sleep in.”

“Stupid ninja and their stupid dogs,” you grumble as you rise, stumbling through the dark and forgetting the reason you’re awake at all. “Quieter in the morning, _pah_!”

Stubbing your toe on the door makes you pause, a pained shout rising in your throat. It tapers off into a pitiful whine that escapes through your teeth, finishes in a hissed inhale as the throbbing recedes. You hear Pakkun shifting, and the moonlight shining through the gap in your curtains illuminates the lump on your sofa; beady, dark eyes watch you blankly and you don’t doubt there’s a complaint of the noise just _waiting_ to leave his lips.

Pakkun’s chin rests on the arm of the sofa as he watches you. Your hand clenches around the doorframe you’d gripped during your noisy injury. Your shoulders slump with a defeated sigh.

_I am going to regret this_ , you think.

You cross the room and sweep Pakkun into your arms, trailing the throw behind you like a tail. He doesn’t grumble; instead you hear him sigh, and feel him loosen a little against you.

“ _Finally_ ,” he sighs at last, as you deposit him on a pillow. He rolls over, oozing contentment. “Nice to know that looking pathetic has an effect on you.”

Vaguely annoyed, you toss the throw at him. He shakes himself free as you clamber into bed, drawing the sheets over your shoulder and burrowing in, seeking the warmth you’d left behind to traipse into the kitchen.

“It’s your fault I didn’t get my glass of water,” you tell him waspishly.

Pakkun starts to spin, kneading the pillow with his paws as he turns and turns. “You didn’t need it.”

“How do you know?”

“You had a nightmare,” Pakkun answers pointedly. For some reason, you get the feeling he’s dealt with this before; with nightmares that haunt into waking. “That’s all.” He flops onto the pillow, the throw curled around him like a poncho.

Your eyes are drooping; watching Pakkun get comfortable is exhausting. “This isn’t happening again,” you inform him quietly. Your voice already sounds far away, your mind already giving in to blissful rest.

Pakkun huffs. “Sure thing, lady.”


	3. the biscuit on the counter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pampering Pakkun has unexpected consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! I have fallen headfirst into the FFXV fandom and i can't claw my way back out again! 
> 
> _help me_ (don't help me, i'm a massive slut for Nyx Ulric and i fucking love it) (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

When Maya finds out about the arrangement with Pakkun, she squeals in your ear and demands details.

“He’s a dog who likes to sleep in my bed and tell me how to fold my laundry,” you inform her dutifully. The pug has been staying with you more and more frequently lately, enlightening you to all his tricks and quirks, and lazing about your apartment whether you’re there or not.

“But surely you see more of  _Kakashi_ , right?” She leans forward on the small table the two of you occupy. Behind her, a head tilts, a hitai-ate wearing shinobi appearing quite interested in the words she’s just spoken. “I mean, it’s  _his_  dog, he must come round and see you more often?”

You shake your head, shrugging disinterestedly. “Not really, no.” At Maya’s disappointed whine, you add, “Pakkun is his own dog, Maya-chan.”

“Aw  _come on_ ,” Maya demands. “Give me  _something_!”

“I don’t know what you  _want_.”

“I want a  _wedding_! I want you married to a shinobi!”

You rub your temples. “I met him, officially, a week ago because  _your_  ex-boyfriend is a dick.”

“You’ll look back on it and laugh when you’re married,” Maya says triumphantly. Behind her, the shinobi snickers; you wish your glower could sear through that stupid metal plate and melt his face off. “And you’ll  _thank me_.”

“Uh-huh. Of course.”

Elbows on the table, she watches you expectantly, awaiting unforthcoming information. Outside, a group of shinobi trundle past; they wave in the window at the group sitting behind Maya. The snickering shinobi from before looks to them, chewing on a thin, silver needle (you’re sure there’s a proper name for it but for the life of you, you can’t  _recall_ ) while he smirks - you’ve no doubt the smirk is for your benefit. Disgruntled, you huff, your appetite lost while you cup a too rapidly cooling cup of tea.

“You’re really going to give me the silent treatment?”

“You  _still_  want to talk about my neighbour?” Your eyes flit towards your friend, drinking in her earnest eagerness and the sparkle in her eye - if she’s picking out flower arrangements for your wedding already, you are going to throw yourself out the window, you  _swear_ …

“Okay, okay, fine,” Maya finally relents. She leans back against the cushy leather of the booth seat, slumped and her enthusiasm sapped. “You totally owe me for meeting him at all, by the way.”

“Oh, trust me, I  _know_.” You blow a strand of your hair out of your eyes and it’s your turn to lean forward. “Tell me, Maya-chan, how did Jomei get the  _crazy_  idea that it was  _my_  idea for you and he to break up?”

Maya laughs nervously. “Ah, yeah. An accident, I promise.”

A quirked eyebrow from you encourages her to go on.

“He got…” she takes a breath and looks away, to the bustling streets of Konoha, but there’s a far-off look in her eyes that warns you that she isn’t with you anymore. “…violent.”

You clock the flinch and the way her fingers trace absently over her wrist. “Did he hurt you?”

“He hurt you more than me,” Maya dismisses. The lie has your brows rising in disbelief. “I’m not lucky enough to have a shinobi neighbour.”

You swallow the large lump suddenly lodged in your throat and try to joke, “Maybe you should hire some.”

Maya’s eyes light up. “That’s not a bad idea!”

Eyeing the shinobi over her shoulder, you nod towards him, telling your friend in whisper  _just_  loud enough for the man to hear, “Maybe you’ll get a wedding of your own.”

The shinobi stiffens. Seconds later, he’s gone in a puff of smoke that waters your eyes.

Maya blinks, stupefied, and waves away the smoke. “Shinobi,  _honestly_.”

* * *

“Pakkun’s putting on weight,” is Kakashi’s light greeting the next afternoon.

Caught red-handed with a bag of dog treats in your hand, you can do nothing but chuckle nervously, tucking your hair behind your ear as your cheeks flush with heat.

“Uh, is he?” The excuse is halfhearted at best. Pakkun has complained incessantly about your bad influence on him but not once has refused the treats you offer. It was  _his_  idea that you buy them in the first place. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Kakashi’s eye lazily trails over the bag clutched in your hand before he returns his attention to his book. The same book he’s always with, you note, but somehow he seems to be back at the beginning when you’re sure you saw him only halfway through last time. You hear him sigh, the sound unobstructed by the mask, before he inclines his head.

“I’ll talk to him about his habits,” he tells you. “Hiding the treats from him won’t work so don’t embarrass yourself by trying.”

You blink, wondering if Kakashi’s a mind-reader or if he believes you’re really stupid enough to think you can trick a ninja-dog’s nose. “What do you suggest then?”

“Learn to say no to him,” replies the shinobi.

You gawk at him. “Say-! Have you  _met_  Pakkun?”

Kakashi’s head cocks to the side, and his eye closes in that same strange almost-smile you remember from the last time you saw him. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” He turns to his apartment, bidding you farewell with, “I wouldn’t keep him waiting too long.”

“Er… right.”

There’s no telltale rattle of chains to alert you to Saito-san’s unwelcome presence - a relief in itself because you don’t think you can deal with her when you’ve been shaken by Kakashi’s easy conversation, as small as it was. Instead, stumbling into your apartment with a bag of treats you now have to  _hide_  from a  _ninja-dog_ , you’re greeted by the dog in question, perched rather elegantly on the arm of your sofa and looking at you expectantly.

“He’s lying,” Pakkun says immediately.

You study him carefully but you can see no difference in the small pug’s build than the first night you met him. You wonder if Kakashi really  _is_  lying as Pakkun’s eyes zero in on the bag in your hand.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, Pakkun,” you chastise softly. When did you adopt a dog- when did a dog adopt  _you_?

“I resent that accusation, lady.” He hops off the sofa, following you to the small kitchen. His eyes never leave the bag. “Not my fault my hearing is better than yours.”

“That’s not an invitation to listen in on other people’s conversations.”

“I’m a ninja, lady. Always prepared.” 

Your plan to leave the treats on the counter goes up in smoke as soon as you enter. On the kitchen counter, tail wagging in the air lazily while its front half is buried in a half-empty biscuit tin, is another dog. Tan-coloured and wearing a navy vest with the same henohenomoheji symbol as Pakkun, you’ve a moment to spy the shinobi hitai-ate knotted around its neck as it munches diligently on the last of your shortbread.

“Hey, Bisuke,” says Pakkun, hopping onto your small kitchen table.

Thinking about how long it took you to realise you were sharing your space with Pakkun, you demand, “How long have  _you_  been here?”

Bisuke lifts his head from your tin, crumbs on his snout and lips. “A few days,” he answers. He’s quieter than Pakkun, with dark markings around his eyes and kanji in the centre of his forehead-  _shinobi_. He shakes off the crumbs, floppy ears a darker shade of brown than his fur flapping about his head, and watches you as keenly as Pakkun does.

It’s silent for two minutes - you count each individual  _second_.

Finally, you manage to grind out, “I’ll be right back.” At the door, you warn them, “No one touches the treats,” and their muffled, suspicious-sounding affirmation has you sighing ruefully. You make a mental note to buy more than one bag next time.

Kakashi answers on the tenth knock.

“I’m  _not_  a doggie daycare,” you hiss, glowering.

Kakashi blinks. He’s not reading his book at least. “I know.”

You take a breath, reigning in your temper. “You  _know_?”

Kakashi takes a step back, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah.  _I_ know and  _you_  know, but have you tried telling Pakkun that?”

Without invading your neighbour’s privacy, you strain to see if there are any more dogs in his apartment. Finding none, you ask, “Are you missing any dogs, Hatake-san?”

Kakashi’s hand lowers and he sighs. “Ah. You noticed that.”

“He is sitting on my kitchen counter!”

“Pakkun slept on your sofa for three nights,” Kakashi points out.

Your cheeks heat as you flush - a common reaction, you’ve found, around Kakashi lately. Hands clenched into fists, words fail you, and instead you stand with your chest heaving in anger as your neighbour watches on nonchalantly.

“I could always tell them to stop bothering you,” he says. He’s using the same light voice he always uses when he talks to you but something weighs down his words and makes you reconsider a hasty response. His visible eye is half-lidded as always, his hitai-ate in need of a clean and polish, and he stands with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slouched. You wonder just how tall he would be if he stood up straight for a change.

“Um.” How intelligent you sound, fumbling and stumbling over words and trying to gather your scattered thoughts. “No, no, it’s fine.”

And it  _is_  fine. For all your complaints, Pakkun’s company has been welcome in your lonely little flat. While his conversation is limited to pestering you about turning up your heating or keeping your apartment clean, it’s nice to have someone there  _to_  pester you. You haven’t had that since Maya decided she didn’t want a roommate anymore and kicked you out.

The pressure suffocating you is released with the revelation. Kakashi, for some reason, appears satisfied. You can’t help but feel like you’ve passed some unspoken test.

“Just…” you take a shuddery breath, resigning yourself to more canine company. “Can you ask them to give me some warning or something?”

Kakashi cocks his head in a hidden smile, oozing victory. “Of course.”

* * *

Bisuke is curled up on the sofa, tangled in Pakkun’s throw and sleeping soundly. Pakkun is nowhere to be found.

Maya, playing at whispering and oblivious to the annoyed twitching of Bisuke’s ears, asks, “Is this Pakkun?”

You shake your head. “That’s Bisuke. He’s new.”

Maya squeals. Bisuke cringes, one eyelid creeping open to meet your anguished look. Just lately, you’ve found yourself appreciating the quiet and comfortable silences that come with Bisuke’s company; where Pakkun has a comment and a tip for everything you do, Bisuke is content to simply watch and sleep and accept the treats you occasionally offer.

If Maya continues like this, you can’t see Bisuke remaining keen to stay in your apartment.

“ _Another_  one?” She says, whirling on the spot to grab your forearms. “He  _likes_  you!”

Bisuke closes his eye and goes back to sleep.

“He’s just busy,” you reply. “Tea?”

“Of course.” Maya throws herself onto your sofa next to Bisuke, and looks put out when poking the small dog in the side does nothing to grab his attention.

“Maya-chan,” you warn lightly from the kitchen. “He’s a ninja. He’ll rip your face off if you’re not careful.”

“Don’t be silly,” replies Maya breezily. “Kakashi wouldn’t let them in here if they were  _dangerous_.”

An annoyed sigh is missed by Maya, as you wisely grumble under your breath and bustle about your small kitchen. You’ve reached a  resigned understanding that you’re arguing with an opinionated brick wall; Maya insists marriage is now in your cards, marriage to the shinobi living next door. No amount of arguing, quiet or otherwise, will dissuade her.

“Hey,” calls your friend, “do you think he’d let me borrow this little guy?”

You don’t have to be in the room to feel Bisuke’s alarm.

“I doubt it,” you reply honestly. “What do you need him for?”

“Well, it’s only  _fair_.” She’s risen from the sofa to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watches you prepare the tea. “You get the mysterious shinobi next door and I get the dogs.”

“You’re acting like I  _asked_  Pakkun to sleep on my sofa.”

Maya’s answer is interrupted by knocking on your door. Bisuke is rising when you make your way to answer it, stretching and widely yawning.

“Hatake-san,” you greet politely, before the door has fully opened. Your ease and confidence slip away instantly, so quickly you wonder if you ever really had them at all, because around his legs are  _more dogs_. Pakkun, uttering a brief “morning, lady,” toddles past your legs and into your apartment, sniffing out the missing member of their pack.

“Don’t worry,” Kakashi comments, “I’m not here to ask you to dog-sit.”

His words are a relief to hear; his dogs are all different sizes and colours, all wearing hitai-ates and vests and looking as dangerous as you’d warned Maya earlier. None unnerve you more than the large bulldog behind Kakashi - someone told you once that the larger the dog, the friendlier they are, but at this moment you’re not sure you believe that at all.

“Uh… okay then,” you manage to reply at last. “I mean, I don’t mind, not at all, just… you have a  _lot_  of dogs, Hatake-san.”

Kakashi glances at his feet, lazily taking in the pack converged around him. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Behind you, Maya snorts. You rub the back of your neck, flushing in embarrassment as Kakashi returns his attention to his ever-present book.

 _Oops_ , you think glumly. The bulldog is staring at you.

“Here you go, Kakashi-san!” announces Maya cheerfully. In her arms dangles an unimpressed Bisuke. A grey-haired dog with a shaggy black mohawk barks a laugh, lips curled over his teeth in a sharp, canine smile. The sight of it is both amusing and terrifying.

Kakashi barely glances up when he says, “He’ll rip your face off if you’re not careful.”

Definitely  _terrifying_.

Maya pales and gently places Bisuke on the floor. Pakkun saunters past your other side a second later, hopping nimbly onto the bulldog’s large head and perching there. Bisuke shakes himself off and inclines his head to you, a quiet thanks passed from him to you that you accept gratefully.

The interaction is not missed by the shinobi standing in front of your door.

“Thank you,” says Kakashi. The hallway is filled with wagging tails and dirty paws as the dogs begin to trot away, their shinobi master trudging along at the rear. Over his shoulder, he tells you, “Bisuke is particularly fond of sleeping under pillows.”

His meaning becomes clear that night, when Bisuke’s quiet huffs under your pillow have joined Pakkun’s snores. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so i'm not as familiar with the other ninken as i am with Pakkun, so if i've completely mis-characterised Bisuke, please let me know and give me some tips on making sure it doesn't happen again. Thank you! (◕‿◕✿)


	4. the shinobi on the window sill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you're left alone for the first time in weeks. the ninken return needing a bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pretty filler with some surprise plot development! it's also unbeta'd (and i'm not 10000% satisfied with this chapter) so it will likely to revised some time in the future! 
> 
> sorry for the wait! enjoy! x 
> 
> (◕‿◕✿)

A week later, Kakashi is crouched on your window sill.

“Pakkun,” he greets idly, his eye swivelling over where you’re sprawled across the sofa lazily. The sound of his voice sends you sprawling to the floor, scrambling for a weapon and finding nothing but a soft and flat sofa cushion. Bisuke, curled up on the cushion where your feet had been moments prior, remains undisturbed.

Your attempt, you’re very sure, further cements Kakashi’s belief that you are completely incapable of defending yourself. He watches you stumble to your feet with barely concealed amusement, head tilted to the side as you clutch your deadly cushion in front of you.

He doesn’t apologise for his unexpected and unusual appearance.

“Why do my clothes smell like lavender?”

“Doesn’t hurt anyone Boss,” replies the ninken, without opening his eyes.

“Only my reputation,” says the shinobi.

You know you are to blame for this development, you’re also very sure that Kakashi is  _aware_  of this fact, but you remain silent. You won’t throw yourself on the proverbial kunai knife placed before you,  _no way_.

Kakashi knows anyway, of course he does.

“Hm,” he hums consideringly.

You swallow and slowly lower the cushion to the sofa again. “How can I help you, Hatake-san?”

In his hand, he’s holding familiar floral pink packaging. You’re reminded of shopping only a few days earlier, with Pakkun perched on your shoulder and leaving tiny red claw marks on your skin. You’d told him he had expensive tastes as he unabashedly directed the proceedings and  _encouraged_  you.

“Boss doesn’t know I’ve switched his detergent yet,” he’d said in your ear, leaning forward to cautiously sniff the tomato in your hand. “Pick another one.”

“I didn’t think laundry detergent was that big a deal to shinobi,” you said conversationally.

“Who said it was for his benefit, lady?” replied Pakkun. “It doesn’t hurt to smell nice when you’re sinking your jaw into the enemy’s throat.”

Suddenly feeling nauseous, you’d said, “That’s nice.”

Bisuke, trailing along behind the two of you, had piped up unhelpfully, “He’s not wrong.”

“It’s calming,” Pakkun says now, lounging on the back of your sofa. One leg dangles off the back, swinging back and forth lazily. Kakashi silently steps into your apartment, ankles crossed as he leans against your window sill, disturbing nothing. You’re not sure why the ninken think Kakashi needs a detergent smelling of lavender; the man seems pretty laid-back to you.

 _So laid-back he’s almost horizontal,_  you think.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t  _know_  him, lady,” you remember Pakkun telling you days ago, when you’d voiced this aloud.

“Not like we do,” Bisuke had agreed ominously.

Watching Kakashi curiously, you try to imagine just what the man is capable of, your illusive and anti-social neighbour, the mysterious shinobi next door with his pack of dogs and strange, masked smiles. Pakkun and Bisuke allude to a hidden darkness and a haunting sadness, to horrible deeds done in the name of the village, to hurt gained fighting  _for_  the village.

“Can I borrow my ninken from you?” Kakashi asks pleasantly. He cocks his head, giving you one of those same, distracting closed-eye smiles. “It seems they’ve forgotten that they  _are_  ninken.”

Bisuke rises into a stretch, tail in the air and eyes closed in bliss. “A dog could get used to this peace and quiet,” he murmurs.

“Won’t be much of that if you keep harping on about how much you  _love_  it,” Pakkun complains. “Bull’s already jealous.”

Bisuke shudders. You look curiously between the two ninken.

“What’s wrong with Bull?” you chance asking.

Kakashi looks at you. “He’s  _big_.”

You think of your small bed getting smaller with the addition of ninken; Pakkun already sleeps  _on_  your shoulder, and more than once you’ve woken up to Bisuke’s wet nose tickling your ear. You try to imagine sleeping there will Bull piled in as well; you’d likely end up sleeping on your uncomfortable lump of a sofa. Knowing your luck, the ninken would follow you there.

“Come on,” Kakashi orders. He’s on the roof outside your window now, standing with his hands in his pockets and waiting for his ninken to join him. They trot unhappily over, intentionally sluggish and irritable. “You can sleep later.”

He smiles at you again; your cheeks burn.

“Oh,” he says. “You might want to go out for the afternoon. Saito-san reported the hole in the wall for repair and someone will be along to fix it later.”

There’s an odd twinkle in his eye, something that’s a warning and a hidden joke. With another closed-eye smile and a cock of his head, he gathers his ninken and takes off, his departure leaving unanswered questions on your lips.

The hole in the wall getting fixed is a  _good_  thing, right?

* * *

“Good afternoon, Miss!” cries the green-clad shinobi at your door that afternoon. He smiles brightly, bright enough to distract you from the stormclouds that have rolled in with him and his team. “I see this is the damage to the property! We shall have it repaired and good as new before the first drops of rain touch the ground!”

“Ah, right,” you mutter. You’re on your way out, after all, following Kakashi’s unusually clairvoyant advice. It had taken too much deliberation, too much back-and-forth, yet here you are an hour later, bumping into a jubilant shinobi in an alarmingly tight green jumpsuit and with the bushiest eyebrows you have ever seen.

His name is Might Guy, he introduces, and he is the Sublime Green Beast of the Hidden Leaf Village. Behind him are his genin students and he is their Jōnin-sensei and, together with the power of youth, they will fix the wall outside your apartment!

Trailing behind Might Guy and staring doe-eyed at him is a miniature of himself, wearing the same green jumpsuit and orange legwarmers, his eyebrows only slightly smaller than his sensei’s. He’s missing the flak jacket but you don’t doubt that one day, you may yet see him wear one.

“Pleased to meet you, Guy-san,” you manage to say after a pregnant pause. Perhaps you’re just used to Kakashi but you’d thought all the shinobi in the village to be like him; quiet and reclusive, with dogs for company and mystery following them relentlessly.

Might Guy may not be an open book, but he’s certainly more approachable than Kakashi. That may not necessarily be a good thing.

“Now team,” he declares, rounding on the three kids at his back. They stand to attention, one more willingly than the others, and you slowly edge around them towards the stairs. His words seem to run together into one long sentence, always ending extravagantly and loudly, in an apparent never-ending declaration. It’s exhausting to hear - and it isn’t even directed at you.

“As you can see, the damage is not extensive,” he says, gesturing grandly to the hole in the wall next to your door, “but nevertheless we will need to pull out all the stops to ensure the best repair possible!” Extravagantly, Might Guy gives his team a blinding smile and a thumbs-up. “The power of youth is on our side, team! Now let’s get to it!”

“Yes Guy-sensei!” cries his adoring mini-me, close to tears. “Let us give it our all!”

With that, you descend the stairs, unable to offer anything but a supportive smile to the two genin watching you leave jealously.

With an umbrella hooked over your arm, you peer at the sky overhead; there’s very little blue sky to be seen, covered entirely by an expanse of dark and gloomy grey. On your street, people are ducking into their homes in preparation for the oncoming onslaught. Overhead, a blond boy laughs obnoxiously loudly as he runs away, pursued frantically by four red-faced shinobi who avoid projectiles of orange paint. The shouted threats of punishment do not deter the boy; the shouting just gets louder as he lobs more paint over his shoulder.

The rain starts when you’re halfway to Maya’s apartment and you are soaked to the skin when you finally arrive. Your pitiful umbrella have provided enough shelter for your shoulders and arms and little else; your shoes squelch with every step and rainwater drips off the hem of your coat.

You let yourself into Maya’s apartment and expect an immediate telling-off. What you get instead is silence, haunting, breath-stealing, worrying  _silence_.

“Maya-chan?” you call cautiously, inching further and further into her home. Nothing appears out of place in the hall as you toe your sodden shoes off; the vases are upright and the flowers from the Yamanaka shop are in full bloom, bunches of pink and white lilies further brightening Maya’s already glowing space.

The kettle screams in the kitchen. There’s cake on the counter half-cut, the knife lying crumb-coated and abandoned beside the toaster. The fridge is open, a low humming noise in the otherwise quiet kitchen, the cool air chilling the warm room. The contents jingle as you gently close the door, tiptoeing from the room and continuing your search.

“Maya-chan?”

There’s a soft answer of your name from the bedroom, an even softer sob that follows. Maya’s alone when you push open the door, hunched over at the bottom of her bed and tightly hugging herself. She flinches when you reach for her hand.

There are mottled purple and black bruises around her wrist.

“He said he just wanted to talk,” she murmurs around hitched breaths. She doesn’t lift her head but you can see more bruises creeping up her neck.

When’s calmed down enough to  _think_  clearly, she latches onto you and doesn’t let go for hours.

* * *

Pakkun is waiting for you when you slip through your door, leaning your umbrella against the wall before closing your door and collapsing against it with a tired sigh. It’s late and you’re still not even sure you managed to fully convince Maya that she  _needs_  to get a bodyguard (or twelve) but she  _has_  agreed to go to the Hokage Tower in the morning to submit her request.

She’s insisting you accompany her, of course, but if it keeps her safe from her rampaging ex-boyfriend, you don’t mind.

There are two lumps sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, dark shadows only just visible in the dim light that seeps in through your window. They are jarringly silent as they rise to their feet, eyes glinting as they watch you cross the room and collapse onto the worn furniture. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and your muscles ache like you’ve run a marathon.

“Would you like to touch my paw?” Pakkun asks. There’s a cool, wet pressure against your skin as a cold nose caresses your hand. “They’re soft and supple.”

You’re close to tears and exhausted. “I’m really okay, Pakkun, but thanks.”

The paw in question is pressed against your thigh, claws softly digging in to your skin.

“I insist,” Pakkun insists.

You rise to your feet, sighing loudly. Flicking the overhead light on, you’re ready to argue with Pakkun that  _really_ , you are  _fine_ , when instead you’re distracted by the state of the two ninken sitting politely in front of your sofa.

Pakkun and Bisuke are caked in mud, flecks of dirt falling off their fur and dirtying your carpet. On your leg, where Pakkun had gently tried to encourage you to touch his paw, is a perfect, tiny little muddy pawprint. They sit patiently, concern oozing from them as you try to get yourself back together, and Bisuke bares his teeth in a canine smile of comfort, hardly concerned with the mud dried on his jaw.

Kakashi is  _so_ dead.

“Boss thought you’d be here when we got back,” Bisuke explains. His tail thumps on the carpet once, dislodging flecks of mud.

“You couldn’t have gone to him when you realised I  _wasn’t_  here?”

Bisuke blinks at you. “It’ll make you feel better,” he prods gently.

Pakkun looks affronted by the thought. “We wanted to be here.” He trots to the space beside your feet and retrieves a bright pink bottle in his mouth, setting it impatiently at your feet. “C’mon, lady. This mud’s been setting for  _hours_.”

“You didn’t have to  _wait_.” You reach for the half-empty bottle. “Minty rain forest mist,” you read aloud with raised eyebrows.

“With extra body,” adds Pakkun pointedly. “Makes my coat nice and glossy.”

Leading the way to the bathroom, Pakkun leaves specks of dirt in a trail to follow. Bisuke walks by your side, less enthused at the idea of a bath than Pakkun and more aware of the mess he leaves with every step.

“What about you?” you ask him. Try as you might to hide your fatigue and wishes that you could just crawl under the covers and go back to sleep, you’re sure Bisuke sees right through them.

“I like your shampoo,” Bisuke tells you.

“Good,” Pakkun declares upon your arrival, itching for his bath, “‘cause there’s no way I’m sharing.”

The thunder sends Bisuke squirreling under the pillows as soon as you’ve towelled him off. You’ve just managed to coax him out from his nest when lightning flashes through the sky, the warning sending him burrowing back into his cosy fortress.

“Bisuke,” Pakkun says, spinning in a circle and making ready to sleep, “we’ve fought in storms before.”

Bisuke shake his head. “That’s different,” he complains.

You’re tired and sad and Bisuke doesn’t fight when you reach for him and bundle him in your arms. Pakkun wanders closer and sticks close to your side as you tug the duvet over yourself, hiding Bisuke from the bright flashes of light and rolling, deafening thunder. He makes very little sound to voice his growing distress; he doesn’t move save for the occasional shudder after particularly loud bout of thunder.

“Your bed is nice, lady,” Pakkun says, his voice slightly muffled by the throw he now clutches in his mouth. “Nice and spacious.”

With raised eyebrows, you watch him drop the throw and snuggle closer to your side.

“Oh, really,” you muse.

Bisuke nods. “Ūhei always kicks me in the side,” he tells you. “And Urushi drools on my back.” His nose is cold on your elbow as he burrows deeper under the duvet. “You don’t do any of that.”

“Boss does cuddle though,” Pakkun’s muted voice tells you. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah,” replies the other ninken wistfully. “It is.”

You try to compare the image of the aloof Kakashi with the one the ninken are painting; the quiet, sarcastic shinobi crouched on your window sill and asking to borrow his dogs, with this idea of a lonely man with a pack of dogs of all shapes and sizes, snuggling against him through the night and seeking comfort through storms.

Somehow, it’s not quite as impossible as you think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i completely underestimated how difficult might guy is to write omfg so i hope i haven't completely botched his character up! if i have, please get in touch so i can fix that shit ~(˘▾˘~)


	5. the eternal rival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maya hires bodyguards. you learn that kakashi has an "eternal rival."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is largely self-fulfilment, ngl. i was really sick which is part of the reason this chapter took so long to write. just when i'd get motivated, i wound up feeling so rubbish that i just couldn't. 
> 
> enjoy nonetheless! big things are coming in the next few chapters ;) 
> 
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

“Pakkun,” asks Kakashi, as he sweeps into his apartment. “What are you doing?”

Pakkun, spinning circles and disturbing Kakashi’s once neatly made bed, doesn’t even glance up. He’s entirely focussed on his task, though Kakashi isn’t even sure what that might be.

“Your sheets aren’t in the right place,” says the pug to the shinobi; he says it like it’s important, like it’s something Kakashi should have made an effort to ensure.

“Uh… what?”

Pakkun drops, curled up in a tight shawl of blankets. Kakashi counts his ninken where they sleep on the sofa and finds one missing. He asks the question despite knowing the answer – or at least suspecting.

“Where’s Bisuke?”

Pakkun slowly closes his eyes, content to ignore Kakashi’s question. On the sofa, the other ninken are already fast asleep, tangled in each other and huffing quietly – all of them are snoring softly except Bull, whose rumbles shake the books on the shelves and rattle the glass pane in the open window. Kakashi’s apartment is cold, kept chilly by a window opened too often, though he had never noticed the severe drop in temperature until dropping in on his strange, oddly endearing neighbour.

“She keeps her apartment _warm_ , Boss,” Pakkun had told him, the afternoon after the pug’s first excursion into the neighbouring apartment.

“ _And_ it smells nice.”

“And how does _my_ apartment smell?” Kakashi had asked, torn between offence and amusement.

“Like dog.”

“Pakkun, _you_ are a dog.”

“No,” said Pakkun sagely. “I am a ninja.”

Kakashi’s eye sweeps over the pile of ninken on his sofa again. He rephrases his question.

“Why are you here when Bisuke is next door?”

Ears twitch on the ninken mountain. Tails start to slowly wag. Ūhei slowly opens one eye and closes it again when he sees Kakashi has caught him. Urushi lifts his head, ducks down again when Kakashi looks at him next.

Pakkun huffs, displeased at the continued disturbance, and raises his head to look squarely at Kakashi.

“She’s _sick_ ,” he complains, nosing at Kakashi’s thin sheets and burrowing under them. He shudders.

“It’s disgusting.”

* * *

Maya puts off her visit to the Hokage Tower because you cannot stop coughing and sniffling.

“I’m not going _without_ you – lean forward, let me adjust your pillows – there’ll be _shinobi_ there, lots of them, and I need you with me because you – here, let me take that, I’ll get you more soup in a sec – you _know_ shinobi. I need your expertise here.”

You cough pitifully into a tissue, staring woefully at Maya. Bisuke curls tighter against your thigh, head cushioned comfortably against your hip. Large, soulful eyes stare up at you worriedly – he’d been the only one to stay when you’d woken through the night feeling miserable, your nose stuffed and your throat tickly and dry. A drink of water had minutely soothed the desert in your thorax, but Pakkun had snuck away at the first sounds of tissues being plucked from the box.

“He doesn’t like illness,” Bisuke had said quietly, as you’d crawled back into bed.

Bisuke inched up and laid his head on your shoulder, inhaling deeply. The exhale sounded far too close to a weep for your liking but the ninken hadn’t so much as moved as you coughed through the night and struggled to sleep.

“Midori-san says to take all the time you need,” Maya continues, unabashedly. She ruffles Bisuke’s ears fondly.

“She gave me some herbs for your tea,” Maya finishes.

She gathers your used tissues and empty mugs while you sniffle pathetically and wish you were dead.

“I hate being sick,” you complain.

Maya sings in the kitchen. You cuddle Bisuke close and burrow deeper into your blankets – Maya had tore into your cupboards searching for more when she’d arrived, bundling you snug in a mound of throws and sheets. She brewed tea and set it in your hands and, armed with a rolling pin and dressed for winter, set out to gather the necessary supplies for you to fight off your cold.

“We can still go to the Tower,” you tell her, as she strides into your room with a hot mug of soup.

Bisuke sniffs it curiously and deems it worthy with a small nod. His nose is chilly against your feverish skin.

“It can wait until you’re better,” Maya declares cheerfully.

She unwinds the thick scarf looped around her neck and rolls up her sleeves; your eyes, red-rimmed and surrounded by dark circles, narrow at the sight of the mottled blue and purple bruises still painted on her skin. Rage simmers deep within, and frustration that you’re too sick to give that asshole a piece of your mind.

“No, it can’t,” you insist.

Bisuke perches on your shoulder as you try to rise, tail wound around your shoulder and hooked in a blanket, keeping the comforter across your shoulders.

“It _can_ ,” Maya says, shoving you gently back into the pillows. “I’m not going back to my apartment unless I have company.”

You pause. Slowly, you ease back into the cushions behind you.

“That’s… actually really smart,” you admit.

Maya preens.

“I _know_ ,” she says. “I have enough with me for a few days – is your sofa still really lumpy?”

Bisuke nods, slow and wise, rife with the experience of a dog subjected to the unnecessary cruelty of your old, bumpy sofa. Maya sighs ruefully.

“It’ll just have to do,” she says. “I’m not sharing a bed with you in your state.”

“Thank you,” you complain. “I apologise for the inconvenience of my – _cough_ – sickness.”

Maya watches you cough for a solid five minutes. You moan despondently, throwing your head back and the letting the dull _thump_ as it connects with your headboard join the pounding headache you are sporting. You could really use a nap right now.

“I’m _dying_ ,” you whine.

Bisuke noses at your jawline. Maya pats your knee.

“I got the paperwork I need for my request,” she tells you. “I’ll get settled in – shout if you need me.”

She closes the door until there’s only a small gap. Bisuke sniffs at the mug still cradled in your hands but refuses to drink any when you offer.

“She’s not so bad,” he says quietly.

“Just wait,” you tell him, taking a tentative sip of the steaming liquid. “She’s be back to normal in no time.”

 _I hope_.

“If I wasn’t sick,” you continue softly, “I’d be on a murdering rampage right now.”

The steam rising from the cup clears your sinuses enough that your angered declaration sounds like just that, and not a stuffy complaint from a five-year-old.

“Heaven forbid,” says Kakashi from your window. He drops into your room, landing with barely a sound.

“There will be no undamaged walls left in Konoha.”

You startle, spilling soup down your hand and on one of the many blankets tucked in around you. Bisuke licks it up, eyes closed in bliss.

“Maya makes good soup,” you tell the ninken.

Kakashi closes your window.

“Having this open really isn’t helping you,” he says.

Bisuke shrinks against you, disappearing into your cape of blankets. An argument is on the tip of your tongue – it’s too _hot_ in your room, and your _skin_ feels so hot it might start peeling off, and Kakashi is the one who enters through the window _anyway_ , why is he complaining?

“I won’t take my ninken from you,” Kakashi says. “You already look miserable, I’d hate to make it worse.”

“Pakkun already abandoned ship,” you say quietly. “The coward.”

“Pakkun isn’t a fan of illness,” says your neighbour, “but Bisuke looks like he has everything handled.”

Your grin, no matter how grateful, is pitiful. It must be Kakashi’s years of training that prevent him from reacting as such. And yet, somewhere in your sickness-addled brain, you think it’s a good idea to-

“D’you want some soup?”

You present the cup to him, spilling more of the liquid over the sides of the mug and, in the process, flinging a snot-filled tissue that you’re certain was buried in your sleeve right at him.

Kakashi avoids it without much effort.

It’s _mortifying_.

 _I want to die_ , you think. Bisuke is laughing, his tiny body shaking with the force.

“How rude,” comments Kakashi. “I come to your home and you throw snot-projectiles at me.”

For a moment, you’re not sure you’ve heard him right. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face. The laughter that eventually follows it, however, heralds your death.

A coughing fit overcomes you through your laughter, throwing you forward and dislodging Bisuke. The ninken rolls to his feet and clambers into your lap, nosing at your hands as tears springs to your eyes. The force of your coughs brings pain and embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you wheeze when you’re done, teary-eyes flicking to Kakashi.

The shinobi is leaning against your bedroom wall next to the window, arms across his chest and eyes lowered to the floor, to the lone crumpled up and used tissue settled there.

“You should keep this window closed,” Kakashi reiterates. “Your apartment is cold.”

You blink at him.

“Is it?”

Kakashi is making to leave.

“And eat more than just soup,” he advises. “Vegetables.”

He leaves just in time for Maya to poke her head in, staring curiously at you as your eyes linger on the open window. You swallow, and attempt to clear your throat without dissolving into coughs.

“Can you close the window for me?” you ask Maya, settling against the cushions for that much-needed nap.

* * *

“Good morning, Miss!” cries Might Guy upon seeing you again. “What fresh delight this is on this fine –“

You sneeze on his bright green jumpsuit. Maya titters at your side.

“I _knew_ this could have waited,” she says.

“I’m _fine_ ,” you insist.

It sounds like ‘fined.’

“You’re not _fined_ ,” Maya says.

“I _am_.”

Maya stares at you dubiously but relents, turning to face the Sublime Green Beast of the Hidden Leaf Village with a dazzling smile full of fake confidence. Might Guy, to his credit, has not been put off by your obviously sickness-riddled form nor, thankfully, by the germs you’re sure are dancing on his flak vest.

His genin, on the other hand…

“Was she like that last time?” asks one, his voice a low toll of boredom.

“No, Neji, you know she wasn’t,” says the girl. She’s cringing but she, at least, attempts to smile when she spots you looking.

At least they remember you.

Might Guy declares loudly to Maya that he, and his youthful team of genin, will see to her protection if it’s the last thing they do. Maya whispers that, _surely_ , it won’t come to that. Her eyes study each of the genin in turn – she appears unamused, or, perhaps, unimpressed.

“Nevertheless,” Might Guy says loudly, “we shall treat this threat as if it is of the very highest importance!”

“It _is_ important,” you put in, coughing. “Maya’s light _may be_ at stake.”

“Right you are, youthful one!”

Might Guy gives you a thumbs up and a sparkling smile. You don’t _feel_ youthful – you feel like an ordinary response is out of the question.

“Can I go back to bed now?” you ask Maya miserably. “You were absolutely right.”

“I _knew_ it,” Maya says.

“Allow me!” cries Might Guy.

He piggy-backs you the whole way to your apartment.

It’s _awful_.

And a _blur_.

_And It. Gets. Worse._

You’re feeling sickly as Might Guy lowers you to your feet and opens your apartment door for you. He gestures grandiosely for you to enter ahead of him and, shakily, you start to. You pause at the tell-tale creaking sounds of your neighbour’s door creeping open, and look across the wall as familiar spiked hair emerges from within.

“Ah, ha! Kakashi, my eternal rival!”

… _rival_?

Kakashi sighs tiredly.

“Guy,” says your neighbour, “I’ve told you: not at my home.”

Kakashi’s eye studies you, the exhaustion weighing down your bones and the stifled coughing that’s going to make you suffocate at any moment.

“You should be in bed,” he says.

“Maya needed bodyguards,” you tell him.

Kakashi, decidedly unimpressed, replies, “You are very intimidating.”

Your nose starts to run. You sniff too harshly, refusing to break eye contact with Kakashi and prove him right.

 _I_ am _intimidating_ , you think angrily, fists clenched at your side as you sniff furiously.

“Ah,” pipes up Might Guy, “I believe that is where I and my youthful genin come in. The lovely lady Maya has hired us to be her bodyguards until the menace is dealt with.”

“Maa,” says Kakashi. “Where is… Maya?”

“Well protected with my genin.”

A pause.

“Shouldn’t you be _with_ your genin, Guy?”

Might Guy falters. You stare at him, waiting. Kakashi stands with his hands in his pockets, waiting.

“Er…”

You wait some more.

“I’m sure they’re –“

You interrupt Might Guy’s fumbled excuses with an ill-timed coughing fit so strong that you have to clutch your doorframe to keep upright. You’re coughing for so long that you start to heave, feeling nauseous and awful.

“ _Ugh_.”

Kakashi studies you in that peculiar way of his, the way that makes you think he has an eye that can see through lies and deception.

 _Maybe that’s why he hides his eye under his hitai-ate_ , you ponder deliriously. This illness is definitely scrambling your brain.

The two shinobi are staring at you expectantly.

“I’m out of cough medication,” you tell them.

“Unacceptable,” says Might Guy. _Indoor voice_ has no place in his vocabulary, it seems. “One should always be prepared for illness!”

You open your mouth to argue, to defend yourself – you’ve been _taking_ medicine, it’s not your fault you didn’t expect to get sick and haven’t restocked.

“In fact!” cries Might Guy suddenly, so close to you that you startle, jolt backwards, and knock your elbow into the doorframe. You stand, cursing under your breath and nursing your tingling elbow, while Might Guy points to Kakashi and loudly announces, “I challenge you, my rival! I will retrieve the necessary medication for this youthful flower and return here before you do!”

Kakashi blinks once. You watch the extension of the gauntlet with an open mouth, horribly confused.

After a moment, Kakashi says, “Agreed,” and shakes Might Guy’s proffered hand.

Might Guy takes off, advising you of the benefits of fresh air and exercise in fighting off a cold, and leaves nothing but a green backlight in your eyes and a kick-up of dust.

Kakashi doesn’t move. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, he reaches into the pocket of his flak vest and removes an orange, plastic pill bottle. He offers it to you with a head tilt and a closed-eye smile.

“Bisuke mentioned that you were running low,” he explains.

Then, he casually whips out his book and strolls away.


End file.
